Dead men

A young man walks upon a road,
He knows not why he's there.
He bares a burden and a load,
His heart holds the largest share.
His eyes are blank,
As is his stare,
Dead men do walk.

This man was once a young teen,
A sturdy child of 14,
He met a girl with golden hair,
With the name of Alestien.
His eyes are blank,
As is his stare,
Dead men do walk.

They were lovers until the end,
Until they turned that final bend,
An army of dead soldiers
bore down upon those two,
His eyes are blank,
As is his stare,
Dead men do walk.

These soldiers were as white as ghosts,
Like skeletons they were.
They were a horribly dreadful host,
Accompanied by curs.
This group rained down with swords up raised
and curs with slobbering teeth revealed.
His eyes are blank,
As is his stare,
Dead men do walk.

Young Alestien was torn apart,
Ripped from limb to limb.
The young boy looked on helplessly,
as Alestien was sinned.
His eyes are blank,
As is his stare,
Dead men do walk.

So now he walks along this road,
A teenager no more.
He remembers sweet young Alestien,
And those horrible soldiers of war.
He now looks upon the road of life,
A barren, fabled street,
He sighs to himself, and prays to god,
And then goes back to sleep.
His eyes are blank,
As is his stare,
Dead men do walk.

This is a memory of a forlorn man,
A man without a life or a plan.
Men may wander forevermore,
Without ever finding those soldiers of war.
His eyes are blank,
As is his stare,
Dead men do walk.